


Letters to Legacies

by ArchangelAzrael



Series: Black, White, and Specks of Gray [2]
Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Some Humor, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 22:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5843746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelAzrael/pseuds/ArchangelAzrael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe if he closes his eyes and opens them again, they'll be both be at home, sitting on his couch and watching The Twilight Zone. Funny, how the only inconsistency he can think of in that plan is Rorschach sitting on his sofa and calling it home. But that could be worked out in a matter of time.</p>
<p>But it was because of time that they may never see home again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters to Legacies

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a sort of long, plot-driven fic, which is sort of out of my comfort zone, but I am up for the challenge! Hope you like it. :)  
> Oh and the relationships, characters, warnings, and tags are subject to change.

 

Dan was resting in peace for a whopping total of ten seconds before he was slapped to consciousness by a rough leather glove. He feels like he's been run over by a cement truck going over 100 mph, burying him in concrete as it backed up again to get the job done. Well it wasn't the slap that was causing this pain—though whoever was trying to wake him up seemed to be on the verge of punching him until his eyes popped open—but rather the whatever-the-hell-just-happened-to-Rorschach that seemed to be such a common occurrence with his partner that he'd be better off wearing a warning sign instead of a mask. A part of him just wants to continue laying wherever he is and accept death with what feels like broken arms, but now that he's awake—miraculously he might add, considering all of the pain he's in—the sun is beaming down on his eyelids and damn is his snowsuit getting hot. He reluctantly opens his eyes and realizes that it's in fact not a sunny day, but rather an unusually warm night lit up by glowing billboards and street lights. He seems to be laying down on a park bench.

At an excruciatingly slow pace, he turns his head to the side to confirm his suspicions. Kneeling right beneath him on the concrete, looking more scruffy and ragged than he usually does, was none other Rorschach. He's holding his mask and fedora in his hands; where he found the time between combustion and appearing here to grab them from the snow, Dan won't even bother to try and fathom. What matters is that their somehow both alive...he thinks. They're both in too much pain not to be, right? And if they really were dead, Dan doubts that he and Rorschach would willingly be together on the same plane of existence. Rorschach, the righteous bastard, would probably give up eternal peace and quiet for a chance to torture twisted souls in hell. Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd just finally rest. After seeing him screaming for death at Karnak, he's not really sure what his partner wants anymore. How could he fight so hard to live and continue to protect people yet indulge in his Texas sized death wish so that Adrian's secret would be kept? It was actually a form of compromise. Not that Dan would be pointing that out to him any time soon. He seemed to be tolerating him at the moment. Even though he foresees a lot of likely violent discussions about Karnak, he honestly wouldn't pick anyone else to help him pick up the pieces. Though from what he's seeing right now, it looks like there isn't a broken world for them to nurse back to health.

“Good. Finally awake,” Rorschach says, not even moving to look at him. He gets the sense that he's been sitting there for a while, only choosing now to wake him up. It's the only way he'd be able to look as nonchalant as he does right now, like mysteriously waking up with no recollection of going to sleep was just the usual. On second thought, it probably was.

Rorschach eventually drops his gaze, choosing instead to glare at two teens making out in the dark, barely discernible from each other except for the occasional gasps for air. As if they could sense his contempt, they stop and instead opt to hold hands and look at the starless sky.

Dan wonders how many kids blew up in the explosion, whether they clung on to swings and seesaws in a desperate attempt to anchor themselves to the reality. Whether they folded into themselves, blocking out the light because if they couldn't see it coming then that meant it wasn't happening. Whether they were holding their mothers' hands when they had the epiphany. Whether they were squeezing their favorite stuffed animal when it hit them. Were they holding on to each other when they realized they were going to die? Dan groans, burying his head in his hands.

Rorschach seems to take it as a sign of discomfort. He looks even more uncomfortable than usual as he pats his shoulder lightly. Probably because he has nothing to cover the blush that rushes to his ears.“Very sorry for your condition, Daniel.”

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the last twenty four hours. He'd have to go back to that turmoil, he knew, but he would cross that bridge when Rorschach decided to build it. “Where are we?”

This was something Rorschach could respond too. Cold, hard facts with no icing in between.“Midtown. In a park.”

He looks around, dizzy and nauseous, but curious and fascinated with his surroundings. Everything looked brighter, newer. Then again, that's what the world looks like when it's blurry. He could vaguely remember placing his glasses in Archie's glove compartment before heading out into the Antarctic snow. Before they encountered Adrian in his evil lair. Before he had informed them that it was already done, at a half hour before they arrived no less. Before his partner, his stupid, selfless, stubborn, _good_ partner chose again to be the better man, somehow ironically the most human of them all in that moment, and walk out the door to ensure that people could exercise their rights. Before he lost Ror— _Quit torturing yourself, Daniel._ God, what it must say about his mental state if the voice of his thoughts sounded just like the man in front of him. _Only wounds worth having are gained when seeking justice._ Practice what you preach indeed.

“How long have I been out? What's today's date?” He finally asks.

“It's October 12th,” Rorschach says matter-of-factly.

Dan's head spins with what feels like delayed whiplash. It's as if he's back to being a toddler, crying for his mother as he grips the monkey bars for dear life because the ground looks so far away. He clears his throat and asks with both wonder and horror, “Again?”

Rorschach nods gravely and seeming to sense how he may be on the brink of hysteria, repeats himself: “Again.” As if it's an afterthought, he then adds, “Thirty years into the future, however.”

Didn't. Even. Blink.

For a man that worked with such stealth, sometimes Rorschach has all the subtlety of a bullet to the head.

***

Rorschach never swore, never cursed. He was supposed to be better than the filthy mouthed scum that he punished on the streets and what would they make of him if he showed signs that they upset him? Indulging in trivial desires such as sympathy, lust, gluttony, and in this case, profanity, only made him weak and brought him closer to their level in society. It made him too human. Too much like everyone else and he _loathed_ it. Loathed even having the urge to do such things. It was a necessary sacrifice for greater good.

 

_Not for the greater good. Veidt has tainted that cause._

 

It was the only way that he could stand to look at himself in the mirror. It was the only way he could ensure that some part of him was good. Walter however, was not subject to these self inflicted laws. So with that in mind, he curses the sky into oblivion, yelling and carrying on until his voice is hoarse and he's developed the reputation as the crazy homeless man in the park.

After that it's just a matter of going through the motions of understanding the territory and their current situation. He walks up to a woman waiting at a bus stop. She takes one look at him, his blank face, knotted, sweaty red hair, and unwashed, most likely bloodstained trench coat, and perceives him as a threat, her hand slowly inching towards something in her purse. Most likely mace. Would make this quick then.

“Excuse me. November 2, 1985. Was there an explosion here?” He asks, trying to take some of the growling demand out of his voice and replace it with something more bland.

She seems somewhat ruffled anyway, her wide eyes looking past him, silently pleading for a bus to come. Not unheard of for someone being approached by a stranger at this time of night.

“An explosion?”

“Yes. Killed thousands. Decimated most of the city.”

“No...” She trails off, eyebrows furrowed. He gets the message.

“Apologies for interrupting.”

He finds a newsstand a block away. The owner's eyes follow his every move as he indulges in his request to look at a newspaper, not buy it. He has a few crumpled dollar bills in his pocket, but he has no idea how severe their situation is or whether or not it's temporary. For now, he would hold onto what he had on him when he had arrived: his face, his hat, meager money, and the gut feeling that the seemingly familiar sights of Manhattan were very, very off. One quick skim through the articles and he's deduced that this is actually happening. He buys the newspaper. The world keeps spinning.

***

Dan sits up so quickly that he doubles up on that previous whiplash, but now he doesn't notice.“We're in the future? _Thirty years_ into the future?”

“Yes and no. Not our future. Seems Dr. Manhattan has sent us to another universe. One where Veidt's plans never came to fruition.”

“Why would he do that?” He's pretty sure that he's partly shrieking.

“Can't get in the way of plans over there. Will be of no consequence over here. Though our parallel counterparts could be conflicting,” he says, the corner of his chapped lips turning up just so slightly that it could have been interpreted as a trick of the eye had Dan not noticed it. He blinks and it's gone, but he's sure that he saw the wry amusement at the absurdity that is their life right now.

Dan let's out a shaky laugh. “You almost had me there for a minute, buddy. I can't believe you pick now of all times to broaden your sense of humor. Which by the way, is really twisted.”

It would've been somewhat of a compliment had it been true, but either way Rorschach takes it like a hooker slapped his ass while he was walking to the grocery store.

“Would not lie to you. Should know that by now,” he growls.

A pause. Dread sinking into Dan's stomach like he'd just downed a bottle of it, mistaking it for beer. He leans on Rorschach for balance, his partner sensing that he needs this and so not shrugging away from his touch.

“Let me get this straight: Manhattan sent us to a parallel universe of New York thirty years into the future where Adrian never had a doomsday device and there's another Dan Dreiberg, another Rorschach—oh god now there's two of you, Jesus—and holy shit that means it's 2015, we're in a different century and--”

“Daniel,” Rorschach interrupts. His eyes are one move away from rolling.

A man aims a flashlight at the teens on the park bench. They're two boys, probably still in high school. They separate from each other like lightning just cracked between their entwined limbs. One boy starts curling in on himself, the other grabs his hand. The man, most likely the father of the cowering one, clenches his fists.

Rorschach finds a way to tense his muscles even more.

Dan nudges his shoulder and it feels like trying to get the attention of a small, inanimate boulder. “Yeah, buddy?”

The father starts crying, gripping the boy to his chest. Anyone nosy enough could hear what he was murmuring in his ear:

“--was so worried.”

“--orry for leaving, Da--”

“I would never hate y--”

“It's okay. It's _okay_.”

“--ust be honest with me. You could never do anything to get me to stop lo--”

“--ould like you to meet someo--”

Dan smiles.

Rorschach squints, lips twitching and face crinkling, making his freckles dance across his nose. He snaps his head back to briefly look into Dan's eyes, searching for what he was going to say before he got distracted. His eyes widen in an _A-ha!_ moment and the groundbreaking conversationalist voices his thoughts,“Shut up.”

“Jerk,” Dan mutters under his breath, even though Rorschach is most certainly near enough to hear. Which reminds him, when had he put his arm around his shoulders? Rorschach didn't seem to mind, at least. Though he was still working on distinguishing content and contempt on his partner's face. He'd like to find out sometime, but on to more pressing matters. “Was there ever even the threat of nuclear war?”

Rorschach stands up, stuffing his hands in his pockets, nodding down the sidewalk. Dan follows suit and they start walking to who knows where.

“Ask library if interested. Or person on the street. Doubt they know their history though.”

At least the Schwarzman building was still right where they left it. Which puts them in Bryant Park. “What do we do now?”

“Same as always. Patrol.” Rorschach immediately responds. If he weren't serious, Dan would laugh. Dan could laugh at a lot of things right now. “You can stay in a hotel.”

Dan stops walking. They're at the mouth of an alley now, which Dan notices, there don't seem to be a lot of anymore. “Are you implying that I wouldn't go on patrol with you?”

“Don't know, Daniel,” Rorschach says, accusation in his dry tone. “Don't know if you have citizens' best interests at heart anymore.”

“What? Why wouldn't I—” Dan sputters. Rorschach crosses his arms and for some reason that annoys the hell out of him. Who died and made him always make the right decisions?

“Is this because of Karnak?” That was a stupid question. What else would it be about? Dan, I'm sorry but you're too good of a friend? You're too hospitable? You keep me too warm during the winter? Stupid. “Listen Rorschach, there was nothing I could d--”

Rorschach puts a hand up to silence him. Dan wants to slap him in the face with it.

“No need to explain yourself, Daniel. Thirty years too late.” And the words sound cold by themselves, but coupled with his partner's dismissive tone that sounds like a forced octave lower than his usual voice, for a moment he sounds downright threatening.

But then for a quick second, the lines of his face deepen, his jaw clenches, yet he keeps staring, daring him to point out what he probably sees as a weakness. That's when it dawns on him, and he doesn't know why he had ever forgotten or neglected it: Rorschach's not just the Terror of the Underworld. He's his partner, he's human, he's hurt, and Dan had been the one to pour salt on the wound.

Dan changes course, taking a left turn instead of going straight like they had both silently agreed to do. Rorschach stops at the curb, and Dan wonders if this is it. This is how he'll lose his partner, in a different but still dark world that will swallow whatever was left of him.

“Well, it's never too late to find myself. Come on, maybe you'll like the other Dan more than me. You could go run off with him and have a riveting conversation about justice and compromise or whatever the hell you like to say about me behind my back.”

“Not a gossip, Daniel,” Rorschach grunts from behind him, now following with an intentional distance between them. Dan wasn't going to ask. “...Will patrol on the way?”

For once it's somewhat of a question instead of a demand, but Dan still feels like he's restricted to one answer. Of course.

It's weird trying to locate himself. His mind screams, “Right here!” but his feet seem to have their own plans, bringing them both closer to the home of someone that will have his face but will most certainly be a stranger. Maybe if he closes his eyes and opens them again, they'll be both be at home, sitting on his couch and watching The Twilight Zone. Funny, how the only inconsistency he can think of in that plan is Rorschach sitting on his sofa and calling it home. But that could be worked out in a matter of time.

 

But it was because of time that they may never see home again.

***

“On second thought, maybe I should take you up on that hotel idea. We need time to get settled, sort ourselves out,” Daniel says, halting their trip for the second time.

They had walked about fifteen blocks with no sign of even a pickpocketing. Rorschach paced, clenching and opening his fists as his partner spoke.

“Look, I'm only saying this because we need the rest. No, we _deserve_ it after getting our butts kicked by Adrian and then being zapped here by Manhattan.”

“Didn't get our butts kicked,” he shoots back automatically, regardless of whether it's true or not.

“Oh I'm sorry, you're right. We got our butts handed to us on a silver platter! God, and I don't know what Manhattan did to me, but my whole body feels like it's been squeezed between a rock and a hard place. I'm surprised it didn't kill me. Laurie never complained about pain whenever Jon zapped her somewhere.”

“Said I was sorry.” It comes out a lot softer than what he'd been going for, but a confession is a confession.

“You?” He ignores the sharp pang that he feels in the other man's chest. Could just easily be an underlying heart condition he isn't aware of. He grits his teeth, biting back more excuses.

“Would never hurt you intentionally. Wasn't thinking. Have never done that on such a large scale,” he rattles on, urging himself to put more bravado into his voice. When that doesn't pan out, he translates his authority into his steps, moving in front of Daniel at brisk pace that's moderate enough to carry on a conversation.

 

What did he expect from working ten years with a person that he couldn't have recognized on the street until a few days ago?

 

“So you do have powers?” Daniel whispers. The people around them are either oblivious or don't care about the costumes they're wearing, too busy tapping away at the brightly lit screens in their hands, casting shadows on their faces that told others to leave them be. It's as if they see people like them casually walking by them all the time. However, they couldn't be sure that this universe had people with special abilities too.

He nods. How much more different can things be between them in a world where they shouldn't exist?

“Well that's good news, I guess. We might need them,” Dan says. He doesn't like the way he phrased it. _We_. He says it as if he owns his powers, owns _him._

He shakes his head, both to get rid of the idea that Daniel would have ulterior motives and to show disapproval. “Don't use them. No good.”

“Why not? You can help people.” _See?_ He thought, mocking himself. _Always has good intentions._

“Just hurts people. Can help people just fine without abilities. Better person because of it.” And why does he not understand that? Had been the one to teach him this. Very hypocritical of him.

“Well if you say so. I just want to make sure that in an emergency you won't get hu--”

“Daniel,” he interrupts, roughly swinging his arm across the other man's chest, ceasing his steps.

He shushes Daniel, pulls out his grappling gun, aims it at the highest fire escape of the apartment building they're standing next to, and gestures for him to climb. When they get there, Daniel is breathing heavily beside him, but is fully alert as he points at the alley below them. He pulls an ink blot cloth over his head once again.

It's a mugging gone haywire. A woman in her late forties is holding a gun to a younger woman's head, gripping it tightly as she thrashes in her arms. In one hand she holds what must be the woman's purse and this would've been over with already if it weren't for a third person, aiming what looked to be a grappling gun at the woman's face. It was a standoff.

The woman sees this and turns red. “Hey! I thought you weren't a killer!”

She backs away. Her assailant steps closer into the shadows of the dead end that they're walking into.

“I'll shoot her!” She screams, cocking the gun against the lady's forehead now, rubbing the cold metal against her sweaty face. Both of them are crying. “Don't think I won't! I'll take the money and shoot you both!”

“No,” the masked person assures her, voice so deep that it must be produced by some type of voice camouflage device. Black ink shifts over their eyes and the sides of their face. They step forward again. “You won't. You never do, Lily Chambers.”

Like it's been rehearsed thousands of times over, the woman, Lily, steps backward and is promptly swept off her feet and into a net that had been waiting for her on the ground, now pulling her up between the fire escapes. The younger woman is left unharmed, and she grabs her bag and runs away hysterically, leaving her rescuer behind without acknowledgment. It's such a fluid capture. The ease of watching something go right when it had so many opportunities to turn ugly and scarring is so refreshing that Rorschach lets out a sigh.

“Think I found myself,” he tells Daniel, and he can see him nod in the darkness, a toothy smile drawn across his face as the other Rorschach calls the incident in to the police. Just like simpler times for a moment.

Then the smile dampens a bit, and Daniel is studying his face, mouth slightly open, a question obviously on the tip of his tongue. He seems to swallow it though—

 

_What happened to you between this and now?_

 

\--and for that, he's grateful. It reminds him of why he considers Daniel a partner in the first place.

 

Of course, this is when things go wrong.

***


End file.
